


Shake a tail feather (now with ILLUSTRATION)

by GayDemonicDisaster (scrapheapchallenge)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Angel Wings, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley First Kiss (Good Omens), Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Comedy, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley dancing, Crowley is a demonic disaster, Crowley's Wings, Dancing, Demon Wings, Demon in heat, F/M, Gay Sex, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Nesting, Nesting Aziraphale, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Oral Sex, Other, Rough Sex, Sex, Smut, Top Crowley (Good Omens), Wing Kink, Wingfic, Wings, angel in heat, aziraphale's wings, comedy porn, comedy smut, crackfic, loving smut, more pointless smut, moulting, moulting crowley, soft furnishings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:34:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22975597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapheapchallenge/pseuds/GayDemonicDisaster
Summary: Perhaps because the almighty had a peculiar sense of humour, angels and demons could come into heat. Some would get an irresistible urge to nest. Aziraphale was prone to this. He’d start buying soft furnishings like they were going out of fashion (and the ones he bought usually already had gone out of fashion, it was like an explosion in chintz in the upstairs bedroom from the last time he’d had the urge to line his nest.)The angel would become addicted to going on shopping trips to Laura Ashley, John Lewis, or lately, Ikea. The bookshop would become a riot of throw cushions and fluffy blankets. Crowley had seen him do it now and again, fortunately never at a time when Crowley, too, was being influenced by his avian aspect.Like now.Because when he brought his wings forward for preening, he saw that this wasn’t a normal moult. His new feathers were rather more colourful.Oh fuck, not now.... . . . . . . . . . . . . . .In 6,000 years angel and demon had never had never co-incided during their cycles, but they're about to find out what happens when they do. More comedy smut.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 115
Kudos: 669
Collections: Crack Fic Comedy Porn, Top Crowley Library





	Shake a tail feather (now with ILLUSTRATION)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CousinSerena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CousinSerena/gifts).



> **The amazing[dragonimp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonimp/pseuds/dragonimp) painted this GORGEOUS illustration of Crowley in his costume [ CLICK HERE](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23678278) to see.**

Crowley’s wings were itchy.

This didn’t mean anything good. It’d be weeks of misery as he moulted. He’d have to pull his wings out of the ethereal plane constantly for grooming, pulling out the loose feathers, casting them all over his flat then trying to find a way to dispose of them that didn’t make it look like he’d just murdered a giant black swan and shoved the remains down the communal rubbish chute.

He got grouchy when he was moulting. It wasn’t as bad as shedding though, when his serpent aspect got in on the action and drove him to distraction until he’d changed and peeled all of his old snakeskin off. But still, having your feathers itching at you from another dimension when you were in public and couldn’t just scratch at them was infuriating.

Having aspects of yourself that weren’t human, but tied to other inhabitants of the animal kingdom wasn’t just an issue of the physical though. They also inhabited your psyche and could take over your rational thoughts on occasion. His tendency to hiss, for example, an urge to bite at things that annoyed him, a proclivity to seek out sun spots for basking, wanting to taste the air with his tongue.

But his ancient angelic form brought with it more avian influences as well. And rarely, once every few years, it could get very awkward indeed.

Because, perhaps because the almighty had a peculiar sense of humour, angels and demons could come into heat. Some would get an irresistible urge to nest. Aziraphale was prone to this. He’d start buying soft furnishings like they were going out of fashion (and the ones he bought usually already _had_ gone out of fashion, it was like an explosion in chintz in the upstairs bedroom from the last time he’d had the urge to line his nest.)

The angel would become addicted to going on shopping trips to Laura Ashley, John Lewis, or lately, Ikea. The bookshop would become a riot of throw cushions and fluffy blankets. Crowley had seen him do it now and again, fortunately never at a time when Crowley, too, was being influenced by his avian aspect.

Like now.

Because when he brought his wings forward for preening, he saw that this wasn’t a normal moult. His new feathers were rather more colourful.

 _Oh fuck, not_ **_now_ ** _._

Crowley groaned inwardly. The glossy black plumage of his wings always had a subtle iridescent sheen of green and blue rather like a crow’s or magpie’s black feathers in the right light, but now the colours were even more vibrant, standing out in a deep azure and gleaming vibrant emerald akin to peacock feather colours. It was quite frankly embarrassing.

And he was getting fidgety.

He realised to his horror, while browsing the clothing racks at Marc Jacobs, feeling the urge to revamp his wardrobe and dress to impress, that he had started to sway his hips and dance along to the music playing in the shop. He was mortified. _Oh for_ **_fucks_ ** _sake, get it together, Crowley!_ And the appreciative grin from one of the shop assistants who had been admiring his oscillating hips did nothing to quell the furious blush spreading across his face.

He'd left the shop, and was making his way back to the car park when he had to pass a display by a Jamaican steel drum band. His back itched and he had to bite down hard on his own tongue trying to stop his wings from emerging as they desperately wanted to, as his body insisted that it wanted to shake them out and fucking _dance_.

He gritted his teeth and forced his way past without letting his feet stop, and made it to the car, collapsing down into the driver’s seat with a frustrated sigh. He looked at the collection of shopping bags he’d plonked in the passenger footwell.

He hadn’t meant to buy half of the things he just had. Most of them were shiny. He was feeling very attracted to shiny things again, but most of them were also for Aziraphale. A couple of antique books with heavy gilt lettering on the spines and gilded edges to the pages. A box of pastries in a shiny silver cardboard box, some Earl Grey tea in an ornate chromed tin.

 _Oh shit, come_ **_on_ ** _, Crowley. You can’t do this!_ His rational, humanoid brain was yelling at him. His avian brain on the other hand, was simply shouting _Give the angel the shiny things!_ His serpent brain had checked out and was presumably taking a back seat during proceedings, probably having a nap.

Avian brain had the upper hand right now and there wasn’t much Crowley could do about it. He found himself driving toward Soho as if on autopilot. He gave in and rolled with it. He brought Aziraphale little gifts now and then anyway, he wouldn’t notice anything different.

It might have been fine if it hadn’t been for the fact that then he came through the door, he saw the John Lewis bag by the desk, and another new woollen blanket draped across the sofa. _Oh fuck_. He really should turn tail and leg it at this point, because by the looks of it, it had finally happened. He and the angel had finally had coinciding cycles and were in season at the same time.

For millennia they’d either not been in display mode at the same time, or if they had, they’d thankfully been on opposite sides of the planet. By sheer chance, they had finally done it at the same time in the same place. Aziraphale’s nesting meant to entice Crowley to stay close to him, and Crowley’s new plumage meant to dazzle the angel into wanting to choose him.

But again, rational Crowley subconscious was drowned out by the overwhelming insistence of his literal bird brain, which saw the new throw and the plush cushions residing on his favourite spot on the sofa and had an irresistible urge to snuggle into them.

Aziraphale appeared in the doorway from the little kitchenette. “Crowley!” he sang in his delighted little voice that set the demon’s belly quivering with butterflies. “Excellent timing, my dear boy, the kettle just boiled, you will stop for coffee, won’t you?”

Crowley found himself nodding despite himself. He sat down on the sofa and pulled the blanket around him while Aziraphale made the tea and coffee. Crowley placed the bags of gifts on the coffee table and waited. The scent of the angel surrounding him in the shop intoxicating. He wanted to drown in that smell, the sweet pheromones of an angel in heat.

Little did he know that Aziraphale was likewise entranced by the heady musky scent of the demon, although he didn’t realise it at the time. His angelic subconscious was drinking it in like wine and wanted nothing more than to keep that scent close longer.

Aziraphale’s face lit up with delight when he returned with two mugs and espied the bags on the table. “Oh Crowley you shouldn’t have…” Crowley shrugged and tried to look nonchalant.

“’S nothing, Angel, just saw a couple of things I thought you’d like.” He accepted the cup of coffee and watched as Aziraphale inspected the gifts. His heart thumping rapidly as he yearned for approval for the presents.

Aziraphale, of course, was delighted. His eyes lit up at the particularly shiny gifts, he cooed over the book, devoured a little French pastry with ecstatic moans of delight, making Crowley squirm amongst the cushions, and complimented the choice of tea. Crowley felt like preening. He resisted the urge.

It was getting harder though, because his wings itched like hell. There was no way he was getting them out in front of the angel in this state though, nope, not a damn chance, he told himself.

“Is that a new jacket, Crowley?” Aziraphale exclaimed, reaching out to touch the fabric appreciatively. Crowley flinched back, startled, then glanced down. He’d forgotten about the new clothing. The jacket was indeed mostly black, with a fine jacquard weave detail on the pockets, shimmering dark onyx buttons and scarlet silk lining. The glimpse of colour the closest that Crowley got to peacocking when he felt the urge to put on a display, which clearly, his subconscious had decided to today. He wanted to stand and twirl, show it off, but he bit his cheek and kept himself firmly sat on the sofa.

He managed to keep it together long enough to be polite, to finish his coffee then make his excuses and rush home, because his wings were driving him to distraction and he had to shake them out and give them a damn good grooming.

* * *

He sat on the floor in the middle of the lounge and plucked another old black feather out despondently, looking over his back at the bright green and blue feathers that had taken their place, almost completely taken over now. He sat in a pile of cast off plumage and tried to marshal his thoughts. He should avoid Aziraphale for a few weeks probably, or he was apt to get overwhelmed, then who knew what would happen?

Who was he kidding?

He could no more avoid Aziraphale than he could avoid his own shadow right now. He was magnetically drawn to him when he was in this state, even more so when Aziraphale was in _that_ state, doing his utmost to make Crowley more comfortable in the bookshop.

Crowley stood with a sigh and fetched a brush to sweep up the fallen feathers. He couldn’t help but start tapping his feet and shimmying about to the music from his sound system as he did so. He had to find a release, maybe go clubbing and get it out of his system. His dancing skills improved about 200% when he was like this, and he couldn’t rest until he’d worn himself out. 

So he riffled through his wardrobe for his outfits that had the odd splash of colour hidden here and there subtly around the black theme, and headed on out. He downed enough alcohol to take the edge off until he no longer cared what people thought of him, and let himself go on the dancefloor, gyrating and moving his hips in a way that had every woman (and several men) on the dancefloor ogling him and vying to dance with him. He indulged a few, but none of them were what he was interested in. He wanted to dance, but not to attract boring humans. He was currently desiring precisely one (1) rather stuffy bookshop-owning angel, and nothing else would do. 

He felt a tap on his shoulder and a tall woman with an impressive afro was grinning at him. “HEY!” she yelled over the heavy bassline. “I like your dancing, dude, you doin’ the carnival this week?” Crowley looked at her, surprised. 

“Uh, no?” 

She reached out her hand, Crowley took it “I’m Saira, part of one of the dance groups who take part in Notting Hill Carnival, we’re short a few and wanted some more people to just join in our part of the parade, people of all ages, all walks of life, just dancing together, you wanna join us?”

The alcohol was definitely in charge when he found himself saying “Yeah, why not?”

* * *

It was a couple of days later and he stared at Saira’s number on his screen. How had he let himself be talked into this? But he’d promised. Her group had wanted a wider cross section of diversity for their group, spanning ethnicities, LGBTQIA status, disabilities, age and nationality. It was a free-for all as far as costumes went, each person could feel free to supply their own outfit unless they wanted help, in which case they could pick something from the selection of costumes from previous year’s carnivals. He thought he might do that. Crowley sighed and responded to her text “Yeah, will be there in an hour or two for rehearsal, see ya.” 

There was no way under normal circumstances that he’d have agreed to anything like this, but right now he had an overwhelming desire to show off and honestly he couldn’t think of a better way to let loose while being also able to kind of hide himself in relative anonymity amongst the other dancers in the group. It might get it out of his system so he’d stop climbing the walls (sometimes literally) in frustration. 

When he got to the warehouse that served as a float parking and decoration area as well as costume storage and dance studio, Crowley took in the other dancers in the group. There was a lady who looked to be in her 90s, sporting a gold spangled bikini festooned with swarovski crystals, who was practising doing the splits on the floor with surprising athleticism for her age. He stepped back as a Somalian youth scooted past in a lightweight active user wheelchair festooned with flashing LED lights under the frame. He popped a wheelie and spun around on the spot, then held the balance with one hand and high fived someone in full drag and a feathered headdress with a friendly grin. 

The drag queen spotted Crowley and smiled in welcome. “Hey, you’re new, didn’t see you last year, I’m Lady Marmalade, but you can call me Kev, or Ma’am if you like, short for Marmalade. I’m They/them” Crowley smiled back nervously. “Crowley, he/she/they, depending how I’m feeling I guess, not done this before, Saira recruited me the other night.” 

Marmalade shook his hand with a warm smile. “Nice. This is Hirad” they indicated the Somalian lad with the wheelchair, then waved toward the elderly lady practising the splits. “That’s Mary, the guys over there are Bashir, Carlos, Mehmet, Dave and Koğah. Then there’s Safiya over with the float, Reda with the costumes, oh speaking of that, do you have a costume yet? We’ve got a few you can pick from to borrow if you like.” 

They indicated an area of the warehouse where costume rails were lined up, with extravagant headpieces and other larger props hung on the wall to the side. Crowley took it all in with interest, before his eyes settled on a shimmering green and blue peacock inspired bikini spangled with diamantés and swarovski crystals, with matching feathered headdress, wing accessories and tail piece. _Soooo shinyyyy_ his bird brain clamoured. He had an idea. 

“I, uh, kind of started on a costume already, got some of it in the car, bit similar to this. To save time I could use bits of mine and bits of this. Lemme just go grab it.” Crowley stalked out to the Bentley and snapped his fingers. When he opened the car the back seat had an enormous black bag that looked like it contained something, which it didn’t. He grabbed it and slunk back in. He picked up pieces of the peacock outfit and headed to the changing room at the back of the warehouse to get ready for a dress rehearsal. 

He stood in front of a wall of full length mirrors and considered the outfit. He could pull this off and it’d make him feel a bit better to do it properly, to actually get the full experience. He shook his wings out with a sigh. The moult had finished and they were an explosion of shimmering emerald and sapphire shades with hints of gold. It wouldn’t last long. Give it a month or two and they’d moult out again then his more subtle crow black plumage would re-assert itself, with only muted greens and blues showing in the right light. He considered the look. Hmm. He snapped his fingers and created a black leather chest harness spun out of raw firmament. It now looked as if his wings had a mundane method of attachment to his body. He considered the overall picture again, still not happy. He snapped his fingers again and the black leather changed to a brighter green and blue patent leather one with rhinestones and feather trim. Now his wings looked like extremely well crafted accessories.

* * *

(Click [**here**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23678278) to see dragonimp's illustration)

* * *

Crowley stepped out of the changing room and spread his arms wide. The room as a whole stopped to stare. Marmalade broke out into spontaneous applause. “You look _amazing_ , darling!” they yelped. Crowley couldn’t help but smile in relief. His body wanted to peacock and show off, he was quite literally doing so, and receiving positive feedback was releasing happy little endorphins into his peculiarly humanoid/aivan/serpentine body. He shook his wings out wider and rattled his primaries in a shimmer of colours. 

Safia’s jaw dropped. “Oh god how did you make _those_?” she gasped in admiration. Crowley shrugged. 

“Trade secret” he grinned. “Animatronic.” He dropped a dose of demonic suggestion into the room that left the humans unquestioning the authenticity of this statement. They saw animatronic wings, that was the end of the matter. 

Koğah fired up the sound system and the assembled group got down to some practise. Crowley soon lost himself in the music, eyes closed behind his shades, wings spread wide, gyrating his slim hips, acres of sinfully lean body on display between the glittering bikini outfit. He rolled his abdomen with all the skill of a belly dancer, spun and flexed his long limbs with snake-like grace, gyrated in some slithering samba steps, bent over backwards with snake arm movements and back up again. When rehearsal came to an end but the music hadn’t, he just kept going, and after a while realised that everyone else was gathered around watching him - leaning on the float, sitting on the floor or just standing there, rapt. 

He hadn’t intended his dancing to attract humans, but it seemed that it was having that effect anyway, as several looked like they wanted to eat him alive and only basic standards of human decency were holding them back. 

Hirad broke the awed silence. “Uh, wow…. Buddy, that was awesome.”

Crowley stopped, breathing hard, strangely satisfied with himself. It felt good. He grinned at the humans. “Thanks, reckon we’re ready then?” 

Bashir stepped forward and high fived him “I’d fuckin’ say so, mate.”

* * *

It was a scorching hot Bank Holiday weekend, and Crowley was eager to get started. The thumping beat from the sound system competing against the drummers a few floats ahead. Crowley found himself swaying along with the beat already. He was drawing admiring glances from every angle and found that far from being self conscious, that he was enjoying it. 

Soon enough they were on the move and Crowley was in his element, he shook his wings out, grateful for the rare opportunity to be able to stretch them for an extended period of time, even if he couldn’t have fun flying. It felt good not to have to hide his true self, and his psyche was sated with the release of being allowed free rein to dance and shimmy, generally showing off his lithe body, his rippling lean musculature, literally snake-like hips, and his stunning plumage in what was basically a mating display. 

He was captivating and drew astonished lustful gasps as he danced his way along the parade route. His extravagant cavorting having a direct effect on the libido of a good proportion of the humans watching, half of whom wanted to throw themselves at him, some of them wondering if they should be trying to tuck money into his bikini bottoms. Crowley was thriving on it and utterly losing himself in the thrill of the positive feedback feeding his ego and essential nature. 

Crowley spun and twirled, stomach muscles rippling as he pulled a few belly dancer moves, bending himself backwards almost double, flipping onto his hands and then back onto his feet again, some of his moves more akin to pole dancing or stripper style than anything else, but with samba moves mixed in. He shimmied his shoulders at the crowd and flashed his wings, twerked and leapt, past caring about judgement, just enjoying himself. 

He lifted his hands high, torso undulating sinfully, wings shaking and catching the light in a stunning display when he heard a familiar voice cutting through the watching crowd at the side of the road. “Crowley…?” His eyes shot up and met the angel’s confused gaze, he froze. _Shit_. 

Aziraphale’s heart was fluttering in his chest, hands shaking as he gaped at the delectable sight of the demon before him, taking in his brilliant plumage that the angel knew wasn’t an outfit, but part of him. “Oh my….” he mumbled, weakly. Crowley was wide eyed in shock, he hadn’t expected Aziraphale of all people to have come to watch the carnival. 

“What are _you_ doing here?” he hissed, embarrassed, stalking toward the barrier between them. 

“Well, I rather wanted to get out and take in the scenery, if you must know” Aziraphale retorted. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Crowley’s wings, the shimmer and shine fascinating him. He couldn’t help himself. He reached out tentatively to touch the glossy feathers. Crowley stared at him, unmoving, and allowed him to. _Fuck knows why._

“You’re so _beautiful_ ” Azirphale whispered, reverently. 

Crowley tensed, and realised that, entirely unbidden, his wings had stretched out wide and he was shaking them. He flinched and tried to fold them down. He looked up at Aziraphale who was staring at him, rapt. “Oh, good lord…” he breathed, hand fluttering over his heart. 

Crowley felt his arm grabbed as Hirad yelled in his ear “hey, flirt later, gorgeous, dance now!” He was dragged off and back with the parade, the other dancers glancing at him expectantly. Fuck it, he started, he might as well finish. He lifted his head and his wings, stared ahead and danced on. He was hyper aware however of Aziraphale walking alongside the parade route, watching him avidly, and as the music swept him away, he lost his inhibitions and began to get back into the swing of things. 

The music took over and before he knew it, Crowley was back in the groove, the crowds clapping along and egging him on. He glanced sideways to see Aziraphale beaming at him, and couldn’t help but smile back shyly, and after a little while, not so shyly. He dropped him a wink and shimmied his wings in his direction. He desperately wanted to grab the angel and just bring him along. Damnit, the angel looked so soft and gorgeous. He turned to the pavement side again and shook out his peacock feather tailpiece bracketed by his own iridescent wings, rattling his primaries out in a dazzling display directly at Aziraphale. 

He wondered if he’d gone too far, but it just felt like the right thing to do, and the angel was standing there by the metal barrier, staring at him wide eyed and breathless, mouth open in awe. Crowley wriggled towards him coquettishly, then reached out with both hands to take Aziraphale’s, still swaying in front of him, until Aziraphale pulled him closer, gazing into his eyes with a curious look across his features. Time stood still, and so did Crowley, his movements halted as everything seemed to fade into the background. He leant forward and pressed his lips to the angel’s. 

There was a moment of exquisite bliss, of tender lips and tongues melting together, before the world erupted into whoops, cheers and spontaneous applause around them. Marmalade danced up to Crowley and slapped him on the back. “Nice catch, Crowley!” they congratulated, dropping a wink at Aziraphale, who blushed furiously. Crowley reached out to lift him over the barrier, twirled him around and set him down with another kiss, hormones roaring through his system, they carried on, Aziraphale walking amidst the group as Crowley circled him, dancing and showing off his best moves, occasionally moving in for more kisses, which drew rapturous applause from the crowds and the dance group combined. 

By the time they’d got to the end of the parade route, the troupe had adopted Aziraphale as their mascot and all wanted to hug him, having caught onto the idea that they’d just witnessed the couple’s first kiss and congratulating them. Crowley and Aziraphale, however, wanted nothing more than to get back home to somewhere private before their surging hormones pushed them into something not fit for public consumption. They had stood chatting with the rest of the group, side by side for a little while before Crowley realised he had wrapped one wing protectively around his angel and was stroking him gently with it. “Come on, Angel, let’s get you home, eh?” he dropped Aziraphale a wink and headed to where he had parked the Bentley earlier. 

That’s when he remembered that driving with wings out wasn’t really possible. He looked around for a minute to make sure no one was watching before shaking them out of existence again temporarily. He hadn’t bothered changing out of his parade outfit however. He pushed the Bentley hard through the jam packed bank holiday traffic, casting physics aside for the afternoon to get back to Soho as quickly as possible. As soon as they arrived he was grabbing Aziraphale’s hand and almost dragging him back into the bookshop, heart racing.

* * *

Once inside, he waved the door locked and the blinds down, before turning around to see Aziraphale beaming on the carpet in the centre of the room, his own pearlescent white wings spread wide, now tinged with golden shimmers on the edges of each feather. Crowley never realised that the angel moulted as well when he was nesting. He stood there in awe, taking it all in. Aziraphale lifted his wings shyly and fluttered them gently at him. Crowley was stupefied, and felt his own wings reflexively erupt into existence again behind him, spreading wide, and knocking a book off a nearby table in the process. He winced, but Aizraphale, strangely, didn’t seem to notice or care. He smiled at Crowley. The demon stared, then snapped his fingers at the gramophone, advancing on the angel purposefully, a half smile playing on his lips, making eye contact over the top of his dropped shades, an eyebrow raised suggestively. 

Whatever record the angel had had on the gramophone earlier found itself mildly surprised to be suddenly producing an entirely different kind of music. “Smooth” by Santana began to play.

Crowley let his hips slip and his feet slide in a samba strut across the floor, circling around Aziraphale, running a feather light touch across his chest and round across the back of his shoulders with his fingertips, his wings flicking to and fro in time with the music. Aziraphale stood still, following him only with his eyes, and swallowed thickly. 

Crowley rolled his body, undulating around the angel seductively, never taking his eyes from him, twirled in front of him, laid a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder, then rocked his hips as he squatted downwards in a gentle sway, then up again, brushing his body up against the angel’s, hips still gyrating, licked his lip then flicked his shades off and cast them aside, ran a hand up the back of the angel’s neck, curling his fingers into his blonde hair, and brought him into a passionate kiss. 

He broke off then leant back until his hands were on the floor behind him, then deftly flipped into a handstand, and back onto his feet again. He swayed over to one of the pillars and wrapped himself around it, keeping eye contact with the angel, lifting a leg high around the pillar, hands slithering suggestively over it and grinding his hips against it, licked the pillar seductively, then spun away again and shook his wings wide, shimmering in the light from the cupola above the centre of the shop, feathers catching the light beautifully. He rolled his body and swivelled his hips in figure eight movements, arms moving up and down his body, hands never still. Aziraphale licked his lips nervously, captivated by the gyrating demon doing isolated hip circles before him. 

Aziraphale lifted his own shimmering wings higher, fluttering them softly in response, an entirely involuntary one at that, and Crowley’s eyes locked onto the tempting shininess. He slunk back to the angel, and began dirty dancing with him, hip grinding against Aziraphale’s, head tipped down, hand on the angel’s hip, stepping back and forth and guiding Aziraphale’s steps with him, bodies close and feet in time. He snaked one hand around the angel’s waist and rocked them together, then slid his free hand up Aziraphale’s chest, gently pushing backward into a dip, supported from behind by his other arm, then dipped forward himself to catch his lips in a kiss before pulling him upward again and taking his hand into a twirl. 

As he pulled the angel back tight to him again in a counter twirl, he curved one wing protectively around him and brought him close to dance tight against him, hips flush against each other again, shrugging his shoulders in time with the music, his spine rolling and hips never staying still, feeling the angel’s softness against his own hardness. He reached up to deftly undo the fussy bow tie from around Aziraphale’s neck, sliding it loose and tossing it aside. His quick fingers then undid the top few buttons of the angel’s shirt, and he pressed a hot kiss to the base of his neck. 

Aziraphale shrugged off his coat and flung it across to the chair by the desk, then repeated the exercise with his waistcoat, now in shirt and braces. He let his own hands slide down Crowley’s slim body to grasp his hips, pulling him even closer, then slid a hand around to the small of his back, breathing hard. The expanse of sinfully naked skin left exposed by the barely-there dancer’s costume undoubtedly the most demonic temptation he’d ever laid eyes on. He felt every ripple of hard muscle under that hot skin with increasing desire. He dropped his head to Crowley’s shoulder and kissed him there, breathing in his masculine, musky scent, letting out a shuddering breath and feeling his insides quiver with desire at the pheromones the demon was giving off. He couldn’t hold back any longer, his wings were quivering with unspoken need.

As the music petered out, Aziraphale swept Crowley up in his strong arms and strode toward the stairs at the back of the shop. Crowley was startled but clung onto his angel’s neck nonetheless, pressing kisses to his cheek as they ascended, then found himself being lowered onto a veritable mountain of pillows and cushions that festooned the angel’s bedroom from wall to wall. 

There was a bed under there somewhere amidst the chaos of soft furnishings. Crowley lifted his eyebrows in mild surprise, Aziraphale had very much gone to town on the whole nesting thing, but he sank back into the softness happily and watched as Aziraphale disrobed before him, never taking his eyes off the demon, with a steely determined gaze. Crowley glanced down at his own outfit, shrugged, and snapped it away completely, then looked up to meet the angel’s astonished expression. 

He had paused, shirt off, in the process of undoing his trousers, to stare down at the naked demon on his bed in amazement. A choked sound escaped his lips, he blinked and cleared his throat, trying again. “I, uh… I see you’ve released the kraken then…”

Crowley’s eyebrows knitted in confusion. “Um… _what_?” 

Azirapahle smirked at him “great biiiig bugger, it riseth up.” Then winked salaciously and dropped his own trousers and underwear in one go, revealing his own effort to the demon, who took in the sight of Aziraphale’s already dripping vulva appreciatively and licked his lips hungrily at him. He raised himself up onto his knees, and grabbed Aziraphale’s hips, dragging him closer and kissing his abdomen, skimming his hands over every inch of flesh in reach, hardly able to believe that the angel was finally in his grasp. He smelled literally divine, Aziraphale’s pheromones intoxicating to the raging hormones of the demon in heat. He growled low into his skin:

“Need you, Angel, I need you so much…”

“You have me, my love. Make me yours, please...”

Aziraphale’s wings fluttered gently in anticipation, begging for his mate’s attentions, and Crowley surged upwards to kiss his angel deeply, pulling him close, then spinning him around to press him back down onto the pile of cushions, pinning him down with a grin and kissing him incessantly, his lips, his face his neck, his shoulders, his chest, and wriggling his way lower with every press of lips to hot skin, then licking down his belly until he was lapping at that delicious vulva in long deliberate strokes, making the angel quiver and whimper, hands tight in Crowley’s bright red hair. 

The demon’s clever tongue went to work with wicked licks and flicks, lapping and probing, circling and teasing, sucking and gentle nibbling, rendering the angel incoherent, his pale wings still gently fluttering in a frenzy of need. The taste drove Crowley wild with lust and his deep chested growls made Aziraphale want to cry out and beg for more, so he did. Crowley grinned, his hands gripping firmer and eyes hard on his angel’s beautiful form before him. He wanted to consume him utterly, wanted to own every piece of him, possess Aziraphale in every way he could. 

He hoisted himself up on hands and knees and crawled up the angel’s naked body slowly, lustful eyes roving over every inch of skin as he went, until they were face to face again. Aziraphale’s features were flushed, his breath coming in short gasps, ocean blue eyes pained with need, desperately begging with no words required. He reached up to stroke Crowley’s face in a wordless plea for more. Crowley turned his head to kiss the palm of his hand, never breaking eye contact with his angel as he did, fierce with desire.

Seeing the gentle pleading fluttering of the angel’s pale wings against the bed either side of Aziraphale’s body triggered a primal urge deep in Crowley’s subconscious, that primitive expression of need for a mate’s attentions. He could feel his demonic hormones surging up, raging through his body, driving him to a savagely possessive state. If anyone had interrupted them he’d have surely torn them limb from limb for daring to come close to _his_ angel. _His_ and _no-one_ else’s. 

Crowley was overwhelmed by the urge to protect and shield his angel from everyone and everything, every muscle was tense, his teeth gritted, jaw set, lip curled in a snarl of desire. He lunged forward to press a savagely fierce kiss, tongue searching deep, drawing back, nipping at the angel’s lips, sucking on his tongue, then pressing deep again, then his hand was in Aziraphale’s soft hair, another snaked under the small of his back, pressing their bodies hard together, rutting roughly against his dripping wet slit, sliding over his sensitive clit and making the angel gasp out and whine in need. 

Aziraphale tried angling his hips upward, trying to catch that slide and redirect it into a thrust. Crowley’s wings were mantled high above them both, held stiff and tense, in a protective arc, each feather shimmering in the light, the dazzling display sparking off neurons in the angel’s brain that were captivated by the sight, barely able to look away. He whimpered and begged his demon to give him more, finally able to get the words out. 

Crowley was mad with desire and didn’t need any more encouragement to finally still his movements, locking eyes with Aziraphale. “You’re sure, Angel?” he whispered, hoarsely, voice shaking with restraint, his whole body quivering, muscles so tense, holding Aziraphale so firmly, fingers clawed in tight need, breath ragged. Aziraphale was almost crying with frustration. “Crowley, please, _please_ my love, I need you, please, don’t make me wait any longer, _please_ , _now…_ ” his voice rising to a begging whine, cracking with the strain of his desire, his urgent need to be completed by his love, he thought he’d go insane if he wasn’t filled immediately, he _needed_ to be taken by the demon, needed to be dominated, to be mated, to be _whole_. 

Crowley was battling between his own mind and body, part of which wanted to just plunge straight into his angel and pound him into the mattress, the other part of which wanted to slide in slowly, to savour every second of it, to draw it out and to watch the look in Aziraphale’s eyes as he gradually took in every inch of the demon’s length into those hot sweet depths. The second thought won, because, he figured, after the initial soft slow torturous dive, he could just as slowly withdraw again and fulfil the first part of the fantasy by plunging back in again full force and draw out a delicious pleasured scream from his lover. 

Aziraphale’s eyes went wide then rolled back in his head with a moan as Crowley ever so slowly sank his length deep inside. The angel shuddered and squirmed, then gasped, muscles tense, hands clawing at Crowley’s back, scratching red weals into his skin, then grabbing for his feathers, making the demon hiss with the uncomfortable tug that at the same time lit his nerves afire. He bottomed out and there was a moment of something on the knife edge between exquisite sweetness and pain where Aziraphale cried out, breath catching, then sobbing with the intensity of it, Crowley’s sheer _size_. He let out a breath of loss as the demon withdrew, bereft, before Crowley thrust back in, hard, all the way in one savage deep movement, burying himself to the hilt. 

Aziraphale screamed out, grabbing desperately at Crowley’s hard muscular shoulders, tugging him in, then his hands roving in a frenzy over his hot sweaty skin, grasping his lean buttocks and hauling him in deeper, whimpering for more and more and more, heels now behind his lover’s backside, ankles locked, urging him to take him harder, to slam into him faster, deeper, to take him so thoroughly that he’d forget his own fucking _name_. 

The sheer desperation of the angel’s insistent body language was all the urging Crowley needed to continue at his savage pace, hips slamming back and forth, hands gripping soft flesh hard enough to bruise, lip curled exposing sharp teeth, grunting with each thrust, beyond mere words by this point, lost in his angel’s depths, lost in his eyes, lost in his arms and their demands. Most of all, Crowley’s mind was lost in the intoxicating slip and drag of his cock deep inside Aziraphale’s pulsing warmth.

Crowley had never felt like this before. He’d had sex thousands of times, but never with another supernatural being, never with a creature compatible with his unique body chemistry. Humans didn’t even come close, and he’d never experienced what it felt like to be paired with a creature made to be the yin to his yang, to have the angel’s hormones and pheromones feeding his own, heightening every sensation, and making him go wild with desire and possessiveness. It was utterly overwhelming, he couldn’t control it, he burned with sensations he’d never had in his existence as his body demanded things he didn’t know how to give. 

He wanted to claw, to grip and hold, to kiss and bite, to own, to mark, to possess, to claim, to fight off any interloper who dared even _look_ at his angel, to let the world know this was _his_ love. It was too much to process, his mind couldn’t work fast enough to make any sort of sense of all the sensations cascading through his body. He could only hear the gasps of his angel begging him for more, feel Azirpahale shaking around him, crying out so sweetly, intoxicating. Crowley could only follow where his body led, liquid fire pooling in his belly, feeling his orgasm building, knowing that it was going to be earth shattering in its intensity even before it crested, knowing he was going to lose himself utterly in the explosion. Every muscle was tense and quivering, almost painful, a deep sweet ache in his balls, pushing him over the edge as he bit down desperately on his lover’s shoulder to stifle his own scream as he came. His vision went white.

Aziraphale was equally mindblown. He hadn’t been capable of coherent thought for some time, whisked away on a magic carpet ride of overpowering bliss, every nerve afire with pleasure, hardly able to tell where he ended and Crowley began, wanting to wrap the demon in his arms and never let him go, to pull him deeper and deeper until he was utterly subsumed. He drank in his lover’s scent like it was the sweetest wine, hardly able to get enough, desperate for more. The angel clawed at Crowley’s back until it was criss crossed with red weals, and glossy emerald and sapphire feathers came away in his hands from his blind grasping. He would feel terrible afterwards for spoiling such beautiful plumage but in the heat of the moment he neither knew nor cared. 

As Cowlely had plunged deep into him, he’d felt completed in a way he’d never experienced before. He both never wanted it to stop, and yet chased for the cliff edge he knew was there somewhere, to dive off and take flight in the euphoria that would fill his wings after the drop, to raise him to heights never before seen. He _needed_ it like nothing else, needed Crowley to take him there, couldn’t countenance allowing Crowley to escape his clutches until he’d taken them both there together. 

So when he felt Crowley ascending rapidly toward his climax, felt his cockhead swelling beautifully inside him, the painsweet thrusts dragged his mind into the stratosphere at the same instant that Crowley’s sharp teeth broke the skin, and he felt no pain, just the poised moment of release as his lover spurted deep inside, wings quivering, held stiff above them both, twitching in time with each pulse of his cock, as if flagging his achievement. He was gripping Aziraphale so tight, growling into his flesh, as the angel orgasmed around him, clamping down tight, the pair of them shuddering together. 

… and then collapsing together like a supernova falling into a black hole, bodies almost melting together into a languid embrace, breathing hard, minds blank and not even caring about regaining coherence yet. Crowley gradually released his grip, then licked gently at the wound; the mating mark he had inflicted on his lover, who idly reached up a hand to stroke his flame bright hair as he did so, seeking to mirror the gentle touch with his own. 

A few moments passed as they simply held each other as their breathing and pulses returned to normal, as their senses returned. Crowley nuzzled affectionately into Aziraphale’s soft neck, murmuring gentle soothing sounds, pressing featherlight kisses everywhere in reach as he lay there. The angel doing the same, while his hands sought out Crowley’s silken feathers and stroked through the plumage behind his back. “My love” he whispered, repeatedly into Crowley’s skin, feeling utterly content. 

That finally cut through Crowley’s exhausted consciousness and chased away his instinct to just lie there and fall asleep, still wrapped up in his angel’s arms, and still buried deep inside his wet warmth. He lifted his head to gaze into Aziraphale’s flushed face. He stared tenderly for a few moments, just drinking in his angel’s beauty with a lovesick smile on his features. 

“Your love?” he finally murmured, hesitant. Aziraphale quirked an eyebrow at him and tipped his head questioningly. 

“Well of course, Crowley, who else would I love, my dear boy?”

Crowley smiled and huffed a short laugh. “Dunno. It’s just that I’ve waited millennia to hear those words from your lips, Angel.” He wanted to say more but didn’t know how, so instead pressed another leisurely kiss to those delicate pink lips. “I love you too, Angel, more than you’ll ever know.” He kissed him again and continued. “But I want to spend the rest of eternity trying to show you.”

Aziraphale beamed up at him. “Part of me wants to say there’s no need, because you already have, my dear, but the other part of me is quite happy for you to carry on. I’m yours, Crowley.”

Crowley grinned and stretched, shaking his wings out and away. Aziraphale looked vaguely disappointed at the loss of the beautiful colours. Crowley slowly slid himself free, and lay beside his angel. Aziraphale rolled over to rest his head on his demon’s chest, feeling it rise and fall in a comforting rhythm, one hand stroking through the dusting of pale red curls there. Crowley’s hand came down to caress his angel’s blonde hair. 

“I’m yours too, Aziraphale, never forget that. It works both ways.”

They lay there a while longer, luxuriating in each other’s touch. Crowley sighed and pressed a fond kiss to his angel’s head. 

“I forgot to say, you do make a beautifully comfortable nest, love.”

Azirpahale tilted his head to beam up at Crowley. “Thank you, dear. And your dancing is simply enthralling. I was quite overcome.”

Crowley grinned wickedly. “I could tell. Don’t be expecting that all the time though, I’ll probably get all uncoordinated again once I’ve moulted back and normal service is resumed. I’m never half as confident on the dancefloor usually.”

“Well perhaps we can content ourselves with more horizontal tango, then?” Aziraphale teased. Crowley laughed and pulled him closer into another tender kiss. They fell asleep wrapped in each other’s arms.

**Author's Note:**

> music: [ Santana - Smooth ft. Rob Thomas](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Whgn_iE5uc)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Peacocking](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23678278) by [dragonimp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonimp/pseuds/dragonimp)




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